Then.

More than anything, I wanted my first day at the coffee house to go swimmingly. I didn't want to deal with rude customers, I didn't want to count the wrong amount of change, and I most definitely did not want to get caught up in Russian activities that should've had nothing to do with me. Unfortunately, every single one of those happened in that order.

Tracey, the woman who became my boss, led me around the tiny shop and explained how things worked in a much too rushed manner. Not only was she speaking so quietly that I couldn't hear what she was saying, but her attention seemed to be elsewhere; she checked her phone for any messages at least four times in a minute. At the end of my five minute tour, I was placed in front of the register with nothing but Mark, a guy only a few years older than me who was introduced as "a professional coffee taster and maker." What that implied, I soon found out. Mark had a habit of doing absolutely nothing and being absolutely helpless when I asked questions – he was too busy sipping on cup after cup of coffee.

"Try this one," he told me, shoving a cup in my face. "I put four pumps of hazelnut in it this time." Steam rolled from the top and tickled my nose. I hurried to turn my head to the side.

"No, thank you," I replied as I eyed an approaching customer. "I don't like hazelnut." I forced a smile onto my face. "Good morning, what can we make for you today?"

The woman in front of me seemed extremely important. Even though we were inside, she didn't take off her sunglasses and a phone was pressed to her ear. Between her straight row of blindly white teeth was a pink piece of gum, which she chewed on like a cow would chew on grass. A rather petite woman, her blonde, curly hair seemed to frame her body as it flowed down behind her. "Yes, honey, just hang on," she said sweetly.

"Okay," I responded automatically.

"Not you," she hissed as she took the phone from her ear. "I'll have a large Caffè Americano with two extra shots of espresso and half portion water." I must've been staring at her with my mouth open in complete confusion because she scoffed and shook her head. "Do you not understand English? Honestly, the one time I'm in a rush, they put a new girl at the register," she snapped before looking toward Mark. "You, boy, you understand, yes?"

Rolling his eyes, Mark nearly slammed his cup of coffee onto the counter next to me and answered curtly, "Yes, yes. Ridley, ring her up for $7.50."

"$7.50?!" the woman screeched, pressing her phone against her chest so whoever was on the other line couldn't hear her tantrum. "It was only $5 yesterday!"

Mark, who was already turning on the loud espresso machine, shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, don't blame me. Blame the economy and your attitude."

I expected the woman to blow like a volcano at this, but instead she let out a pouting sigh and nearly chucked her credit card at my face. It slammed against my chest before falling onto the counter. With a thousand questions racking my brain and trembling fingers, I hit the buttons on the old cash register in front of me. After swiping her card, printing out the receipt, and pushing it toward her to sign, I caught the biggest mistake I could've made that entire year. Instead of charging her for a $7.50 cup of coffee, I charged her $750.

Before I could rip the receipt out from under her, Mark had her coffee ready. She slammed the pen on the counter, grabbed the cup, and waltzed out of the building like she owned the place, chattering away on her phone once again. I stood frozen, trying to make the words come from my mouth to explain what I did. As Mark peered over my shoulder and burst out into a deep roar of laughter, I realized my words weren't needed.

"No way," he choked out. "No fuckin' way. I can't believe you did that!" I suddenly found my face pressed into his chest as he embraced me. "That bitch comes in here almost every single day and pulls the same shit. Bet she won't come back anytime soon! Good job!"

I wanted to say that I didn't mean to do it, but Mark hurried into Tracey's office behind us, yelling that she'll never guess what I pulled off. Fear settled inside me. This was it. I was going to be fired on my second day on the job, but Tracey's own howl of a laugh danced with Mark's and I knew I was safe for the time being.

(-)

The rest of the day was slow and uneventful, which was more than okay with me. I found myself distracted anyway. Murphy filled my thoughts, sending an uncomfortable pinch to my gut. Our kiss only two days before repeated in my head, although I didn't really want to consider it a kiss. It was just a spur of the moment explosion of happiness on my part.

Taking a quick glance around the place, I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled to his name. The twins shared a cell phone, but I doubted that Connor was going to be nosy enough when my name popped up on their screen. Mark, who was asleep in the corner, stirred slightly. I watched him until he settled back in the chair and exhaled in a slow snore.

The phone only rang once before Murphy's eager voice answered, "Riddles?"

"Hey, Murph," I mumbled, fondling a pen in my left hand. I hoped that the shop would continue to stay empty until I was finished talking to him.

"Is everythin' all right?"

"Ye-Yeah, yeah. Everything's good. Look, I just wanted to apologize for the other night. I shouldn't have done what I did."

Murphy chuckled. I could hear his smile in his voice. "Don't worry 'bout it, lass," he told me in a reassuring tone. "It wasn't like-"

"I'm so glad you understand," I interrupted. "I mean, I just lost Trevor and all. I didn't want you to give you the wrong impression and I was worried that you were going to think that it actually meant something." As soon as that came form my mouth, I wanted to rewind time and stop myself. It was almost as if I could hear Murphy's smile fall.

"N-No, of course not," he deadpanned. "Um, apologies, Ridley. I-I've got to go. Have a good day at work." Without another word, the line went dead.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket, resisting the urge to kick myself for blurting that out. Feeling like a complete jackass, I ran a hand over my face. My day was nearly over and I was ready to get the hell out and escape to my bed. Mark mumbled in his sleep, something about adding more espresso shots. His face contorted into a scowl before falling rested again. I assumed he was dreaming about the woman before.

As the seconds ticked away into minutes, and minutes into hours, I couldn't push Murphy from my mind. Every single time his face popped up in my thoughts, another wave of guilt racked through me. I'd told him that I didn't want to give him the wrong impression, but that was exactly what I was doing now. There was no doubt in my mind that I was attracted to Murphy, but he was just as much a friend to me as Connor was. Besides, I had just lost Trevor, although I was nowhere near heartbroken over it.

"There's my hard-workin' girl!"

I lifted my gaze from the counter just as Mark jolted awake and fell from his chair. "Rocco?"

Rocco, who seemed to be wearing the same shirt from the last time I saw him, strolled toward the counter with a goofy grin on his face. "Business seems to be boomin', huh?" he teased, leaning his elbows on the surface in front of me. I greeted him with a shy smile.

"Hey, buddy, no loitering," Mark warned as if he actually gave a shit.

"What? I can't talk to my good friend Ridley?!"

"No, buy something or get out."

Glaring daggers at the kid, Rocco fished around in his pockets for some spare change. "Fuckin' fine. Get me a fuckin' – I don't know – a fuckin' whatever. Just don't spit in it," he ordered, raising an accusing finger in Mark's direction. "You fuckin' look like the spittin' kind."

I had to suppress a giggle at Rocco's words. I truly enjoyed the way he talked to people. He didn't even try to pretend to be someone else; he was genuine and real with everyone he met, no matter who they were. When Mark flipped him the bird and started to put together his coffee, Rocco motioned me forward. I leaned close to him, to the point of nearly kissing his thick lips, and listened intently on his words.

"Look, I need your help," he whispered, his breath smelling of cigarettes. I craved Murphy's lips almost instantly. "I have a job to do later on tonight, say around ten. You in?"

"What will I be doing?" I questioned, feeling flattered that he came to me for help at all.

A crooked smile spread across his bearded face. "Just look pretty, sweetheart."

(-)

"This is a bunch of bullshit."

"Yeah, but you look smokin'!"

I smoothed out my skirt as best I could, trying to get it to cover my butt. Every time I stopped pressing it down, though, it rode back up, revealing my underwear. The entire outfit that Rocco had given me was skimpy as all hell. The blouse pressed my boobs too close together, creating more cleavage than I really had. The heels were much too big; I felt like a three-legged giraffe in them. Even my make-up was too much. When I looked in the mirror, I expected to look like a clown. Instead, I looked more like an important business woman who didn't have time to deal with anyone's crap.

"One more thing," Rocco said from behind me, reaching for my hair tie. He gently pulled it out, allowing my hair to fall beautifully. It was never down much, so whenever it came out, it always seemed like it had grown another five inches. "Yeah, this'll work."

We set out in the hotel toward the meeting room. Me, playing the role of a sultry bar tender, and Rocco, pretending to be a bellhop. I was supposed to walk into the Russian meeting, introduce myself with a fake name, and hurry to the bar. Hopefully I would be enough to distract the two men. After I got them drunk, Rocco would come in and kill them, per his boss's orders.

I knocked on the door, running my tongue over my front teeth to rid myself of lipstick that I swore kept smearing. A rather large, bald man opened it, scanned me up and down, and finally allowed me in. The second I entered the room, eight other men turned to face me, each of them bigger than the next. In the middle of the circle they formed, an especially ugly one sneered at me. He was shaped like a pear while his haircut made him look like a mushroom.

"Who are you?" he demanded to know, his voice thick with a Russian accent.

I swallowed hard, my knees already shaking. "Br-Brooke," I answered. Murphy's voice ran through my head, telling me to breathe. So, I did what I did in my interview and took a deep inhale. "My name is Brooke and I'm your bartender for the night," I repeated, this time with the utmost confidence.

"We ordered no bartender," the man informed me in disgust. "We have no use for you."

"On the contrary," I replied, heading toward the small bar in the corner of the room, making sure to swing my hips as much as possible, "you do. I'm on the house, or should I say, I'm free. I was told to do whatever you men wish to keep you happy."

A few of the man around the room glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows. One of them nodded to himself, obviously trying to see if my skirt would go up any further. I pretended to absentmindedly pull it back down. "Fine," the pear man spat. "Stay if you wish. One wrong move, we kill you." This should have scared me senseless, but I just kept breathing. As I maneuvered about the bar like I was actually doing something productive, I stayed completely calm, even when pear man began shouting in Russian. Rocco would soon burst in at any moment and I would duck out of harm's way.

Just as I sloppily poured my first shot – with every intention to throw it down my own throat – a loud crash sounded. I looked up just in time to see the roof fall in and two masked men, dangling from the electrical wires in the ceiling, spin helplessly in circles. I hurried to hide behind the bar, covering my ears as screams and gunshots rang out around the room. Tears sprang to my eyes when it was all over and spilled onto my cheeks. I covered my mouth with my hand as the two chanted the same prayer that I heard when Trevor was killed. Then, with one final shot, everything fell silent.

"Well, name one thing you're gonna need the stupid fuckin' rope for," one of the men teased. He sounded so familiar, but I was still so scared that I couldn't place my finger on it.

"That was way easier than I thought," the other replied. Then, it hit me.

"Aye."

"You know, on TV, you've got that got that one that jumps over the sofa."

"And then you've got to shoot 'im for ten fuckin' minutes too."

I grabbed the corner of the bar for support as I tried to pull myself onto my feet. More than anything, I didn't want it to be them. I wanted it to be two men I didn't know and would never have the business of knowing, but as I peeked over the surface and settled my teary gaze on their backs, I knew it was true. It was Connor and Murphy, sweaty and breathless.

"Christ, we're good," Murphy boasted, forming his hands into the shapes of guns.

"Yes, we are," Connor responded, giving his brother a gentle push. He turned and before he saw me, his eyes rested on a black bag on the bar. I hurried to grab at it, ready to use whatever it was as defense. "Ridley?"

Murphy's body whipped around, his face struck with horror. "Riddles?"

I wanted to say something to them, but my mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour. The two of them took down nine extremely important Russian gang-affiliated men, killed Trevor and countless other criminals, and managed to keep their faces off the media while doing it all. Suddenly, they were two unknown people to me. It was as if my week and a half of knowing them, instantly becoming their friend, and hanging out with them like we've known each other our entire lives was completely erased. These two were not my Connor and my Murphy.